Black Harvest (The PROJECT)

by Lukeman, Alex

  Fear.

  Zviad had been known to kill the messenger. Looking at his man, he knew something bad had happened.

  "Boss..."

  "What is it, Iosif?" Zviad had never seen Iosif look nervous. The news must be very bad. He reached for a bottle of vodka and poured two large glasses.

  "Drink. Then tell me why you are here."

  Iosif gulped down the clear liquor. The words rushed out. "Boss, it's Bagrat. He's dead."

  Zviad paused with the glass halfway to his lips. He set it down, carefully. Now he knew why he hadn't heard from his brother. His first thought was disbelief. Bagrat. He was indestructible. His second thought was an odd memory of when they had been children, fighting in the rows of the vineyard. His third thought wasn't a thought. It was feeling that swept over him. Rage.

  "How?" His voice was quiet.

  "He was in a Greek hospital. Someone shot him. The shooter killed a guard in the hall. Then he went in Bagrat's room and shot a Greek cop and an Interpol agent. Then he shot Bagrat."

  "Why was Bagrat in a hospital?"

  "A woman put him there. An American. Bagrat tried to grab her. She fought back. Grigor is dead. Bagrat was badly injured, so they took him to the hospital."

  "A WOMAN?" His shout could be heard throughout the house. Outside the study, his wife listened.

  Zviad brought his huge fist down on the antique desk top. It split and sagged. He hit it again. The desk shattered into two parts. The vodka, papers, glasses fell to the floor. The bottle rolled away, gurgling vodka behind it.

  Iosif waited, afraid to move.

  Zviad shook himself like a great northern bear. He reached down for the vodka, put the bottle to his lips and drank. His mind began planning, calculating. This was now a matter of honor. Bagrat. How had he let this happen?

  Once it was known a woman had done this there would be loss of respect. There would be jokes, trouble. An example would have to be made. And who had fired the shots? Who dared?

  "Tell me what is known."

  Iosif cleared his throat. "Bagrat was under guard. Someone, a man, posed as another Interpol cop. He used a silenced weapon. No one knew anything until a nurse found the guard outside Bagrat's room. No one heard the shots."

  "Bagrat and three cops."

  "Yes, Boss."

  "Go to Greece. Take three men, good ones. Find the woman. Find out anything you can. And Iosif."

  "Yes, Boss?"

  "I want this woman. And the man who did this. We are clear?"

  Iosif was very clear. He was on the chopping block. His only hope was to find the woman or book a one-way ticket to somewhere obscure and far away from Moscow.

  "Yes, Boss. Clear."

  "Iosif."

  "Yes, Boss?"

  "Don't come back without her. Go."

  Iosif went. He closed the study door behind him. Zviad's wife stepped from the shadows where she'd been listening.

  Bedisa had been born and raised in Georgia. She had heard the conversation. She knew honor demanded revenge. She knew Zviad was obsessed with respect. The woman, whoever she was, was as good as dead. She would wish for death many times over if Zviad found her.

  She brushed her long black hair back over her shoulders. The movement accented her full breasts. She put her finger to her lips. Iosif watched her. They could hear Zviad pacing back and forth in his study, cursing. His heavy footsteps vibrated out into the hall.

  She went to Iosif and ran her fingers over his face, stroked his crotch, kissed him.

  "Are you insane?" he hissed. "What if he comes out?"

  "He will not come out. I will go in and calm him."

  Iosif had been sleeping with Bedisa for the last six months. At first he'd wondered why she'd chosen him, or why he'd let it continue. Perhaps it was the danger. Discovery by Zviad would have been terrible. The fear added an adrenaline rush to their furious and inventive sex.

  The sex. Bedisa was not like any other woman he had ever known. She was unique. What she could do with her body, with his, astounded him. She was beautiful, not the kind of woman who normally found Iosif attractive. He knew he was no prize for looks. Iosif was hopelessly in love with her.

  After a month she'd begun to talk about Zviad. About Iosif as the new boss. About what they could do together if Zviad was not around any longer.

  Zviad was as paranoid as he was shrewd. He had a servant taste his food. He was always protected. He never ventured far from Moscow, though sometimes he went to his villa near Tbilisi, surrounded by bodyguards. He was not an easy man to kill. Bedisa knew Iosif couldn't just kill him and take over. It had to look as if someone else had done it. Otherwise there would be vendettas.

  Her voice was soft, almost a whisper. "Find the woman. Then lure Zviad to wherever she is and kill him. We'll never have a better chance."

  Iosif nodded. "I don't know..."

  Bedisa ran her hand down over his crotch, cupped him and squeezed. She ran her tongue into his ear.

  "All right."

  "Good."

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  In Virginia, Harker listened to Nick on her speakerphone.

  "No one heard the shots?"

  "The first anyone knew was when a nurse found the dead guard. The room was a bloodbath. The Greek cop we were working with was killed. Not much loss there."

  "What did the killer look like?"

  "Like a cop. He had Interpol ID. The duty nurse had seen one just like it not long before. She thought he was with the others. The receptionist downstairs said he was well-dressed, polite, short hair and cop looking."

  "What does that mean?"

  "Hard. Cold eyes, like he'd seen too much. Those were her words. The eyes bothered her. He showed her Interpol ID also."

  Across the ocean, Nick waited.

  "This doesn't feel like a gang hit, someone in competition with the Georgian bunch."

  "Silenced weapon, phony ID, clean getaway. More like an agency of some kind. Mossad, CIA, like that."

  "If it's an agency, why kill their own agent? "

  "Good question. This guy was no ordinary kidnapper. His brother runs the gang. I think he's after Alexander's loot. Someone had to steer him to Greece. Selena thinks we might discover who it was by feeding out information. See what turns up."

  "Where would you start?"

  "I'm not sure. Gelashvili shouldn't know about us, so why go after Selena? How did he get a photo of her? And who ordered the killings in Greece? Not Gelashvili. There has to be more than one player here."

  Sometimes Harker closed her eyes and thought of her father when she needed inspiration. How would he read it? She pictured him sitting in his study in Colorado, sipping bourbon in his green chair. She could almost hear his voice. She remembered when she'd come home after finishing her second year of college. Worried about choosing the right direction for her future.

  "What do you think I should do?"

  "What do you want to do?"

  "That's not an answer."

  The Judge raised his glass and drank, the amber liquid making smoky swirls over the ice. He'd been drinking more lately, since her mother had become ill.

  "Yes it is. An answer. You know I can't decide for you. I'd always hoped you'd take up law. But maybe that's not for you."

  "It might be. I just don't know"

  "What else would you do?"

  "I thought medicine."

  The Judge laughed. "From the frying pan to the fire. You think law is tough...but you'd be a good doctor. Why medicine?"

  "Maybe it sounds naive, but I want to make a difference."

  "Law doesn't make a difference?"

  "Of course it does."

  "Okay," her father had said. "Let's try something. Sometimes I do this when I can't decide what's right. Close your eyes."

  She'd closed them.

  "Picture yourself as a doctor. Go ahead. Check how it feels in your body, good or bad or neither one."

  After a minute she opened her eyes. "It feels like...noth
ing."

  "Okay, keep your eyes closed. Now picture yourself as someone who upholds the law, defends it, practices it."

  She'd done it and a wave of heat had passed through her, an inner excitement. She'd opened her eyes.

  The Judge had nodded. "See? Now you know what to do."

  "Nick."

  "Still here, Director."

  "Go to Sofia. Our only lead is the inscription in the tomb. I'll clear you into Bulgaria and make it official."

  "That means everyone will know who we are."

  "Think of it as a way to smoke out whoever's making trouble."

  "If I liked bait, I would've taken up fishing."

  "You'll handle it. I'll send Ronnie to fish with you."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Ronnie came in on British Airways via London/Heathrow. He had the look people get when they've just spent too many hours in airports and planes. He hugged Selena. He nodded at Nick. Ronnie didn't shake hands. It wasn't the Navajo custom.

  "Never been to Bulgaria before. Anybody start shooting at us yet?"

  Nick smiled in spite of himself. "Taxis are over there. We're at the Hilton."

  "Kind of high profile."

  "We're in the open. Everything's official. The Greeks and the Bulgarians know we're here. For all I know, the Chinese, the Indians and the Pakis. For sure, the Russians. Maybe it will bring someone out of the woodwork. So we might as well enjoy it."

  "Works for me."

  They got in the cab. "You got a weapon?"

  "Yup." he patted his bag.

  None of them had been to Bulgaria. Sofia had open air cafes along the boulevard, like every city in Europe. There were ornate apartment buildings, offices and parks. Electric trolley wires ran in ordered webs overhead, like many cities in Europe. Nick couldn't quite put his finger on it, but Sofia was different. Maybe it was the colors on the buildings. Maybe it was the architecture.

  They drove past an enormous building.

  "Nevsky," the driver pointed. "Very holy."

  The cathedral was huge. It had five or six enormous domes that Nick could see. Most of the domes were green with age. Rows of arched windows lined the ground level. It reminded him of a gigantic wedding cake. If he'd had any doubts he wasn't in Western Europe, Nevsky Cathedral removed them.

  They met in Ronnie's room. It was a nice room, high up. The hotel was like big city Hiltons everywhere. Except for the room service menu and the hot water on the right, it could have been in St. Louis.

  Sofia was set in a broad valley under the shadow of a mountain identified by the tourist guide as Mount Vitosha. From the window of the room they could look out over the city and valley below. The Balkans rose above the valley and formed an ominous wall across the horizon. Snow covered the peaks. Clouds passing in front of the sun threw changing shadows across the slopes. Nick turned away from the hypnotic view.

  "Okay. We're here, where the spring and two rivers cross. What now?"

  "There used to be a public bath where the springs are. It's a museum now. The only other clue we've got is the reference to Erinys."

  "Erinys?" Ronnie went to the mini-fridge, took out a bottle of water, sat on the bed.

  "The destructive side of Demeter. Not someone you wanted to meet."

  "How do we track it down? You have an idea?"

  "It's research, like always. That inscription is from around 146 BCE or so. A lot of Greeks lived in Bulgaria then."

  "Not now?"

  "Not anymore. The culture is Slavic. Records from that time are lost but there must have been a shrine or temple for Demeter or Erinys. Maybe we can find out where it was. Whoever wrote that inscription would have known about it, assuming it really is a message about the urn."

  Nick sat down. "What do you want to do first?"

  "Try the libraries and museums, starting with the springs. You and Ronnie can take in the sights."

  "Better if we stay together. The bad guys found you in Greece. They could find you here."

  "They're not going to go after me in a library or a museum."

  "No? Why not?"

  "Well, too public?"

  "Public doesn't matter. These kind of people don't worry about public."

  She knew he was right.

  "So we all go to the museum. I hope you're ready to get bored."

  "Hey," Ronnie said. "I like museums. Maybe they'll have a Bulgarian dinosaur."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Alexei Ivanovich allowed himself a smile. Korov had displayed his usual efficiency. Zviad Gelashvili was enraged by the death of his brother. Rage and anger were desirable. People who allowed their anger to control them made mistakes.

  Alexei had informants inside Zviad's organization. Gelashvili had learned a man had joined the woman, Connor, in Greece. He was convinced it was the same man who had killed Bagrat. Zviad had vowed to skin him alive. He would, if he found him.

  Alexei knew Connor's partner was Nicholas Carter, Director of Special Operations for the Project. He knew something about all of the personnel at the Project. He assumed they knew about him. When you reached his level in the world of covert intelligence, many things about you were known. Vysotsky's job as head of Department S meant there were detailed files about him somewhere in Washington. Certainly in the Project.

  Intelligence agencies the world over still followed a few unwritten rules. Members of one agency didn't attack their opposite numbers, unless there was a direct and immediate reason to do so. It was a kind of gentlemen's agreement between people who were anything but gentlemen. It provided some security. It wouldn't do to have the various agencies at war with one another, not openly. Deaths brought retaliation. No one wanted a repeat of the bad old days of the cold war.

  On the other hand, there was no rule about protecting the competition if someone else went after them. That wasn't his business, unless it was to his advantage. At the moment, Alexei saw no advantage in letting Carter know Gelashvili was stalking him and his partner. Carter was experienced. He would have considered that possibility. It was his lookout.

  The two Americans had gone on to Bulgaria and been joined by a third member of their team. They'd registered at a hotel in Sofia. They were making no effort to hide their identity. Alexei found that unusual, even refreshing. It made sense, in an odd way. Carter was well known. Connor was certainly known to Gelashvili. So why hide who they were? He wondered if they were trying to draw Gelashvili into the open. Bulgaria wasn't that far from Moscow. It wasn't like trying to get Zviad to a Western city. It was what he would do in their position. Get him somewhere and talk with him. Forcefully.

  Gelashvili might seek his revenge in person. Alexei wanted Korov to be on hand if that happened. He'd ordered Arkady to follow the Americans into Bulgaria. They were the perfect bait to draw Gelashvili away from his Moscow fortress. They could do the work and he could reap the advantages. It was time to eliminate Gelashvili. He would die on foreign soil and no one would suspect Alexei's hand behind events. The more he thought about it, the more he liked it.

  If the Americans died as well, it wasn't personal.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  They'd rented a car at the hotel, a Peugeot. They parked in front of the museum.

  "More domes." Ronnie gestured at the roof.

  The old public baths had a high, arched doorway and paned windows under a large dome. Two more domes at the ends balanced the central mass. The exterior featured horizontal bands of white and brown and accents of yellow under a red roof.

  The museum was closed.

  "Where to now?" Nick said.

  "The National History Museum. It was next on my list."

  They'd rented a GPS along with the car. It guided them through the confusion of Sofia traffic and indecipherable street names until they found the National Museum.

  The building was modern in a 70s way, low and clean, a study in simplicity. The central foyer was cool and light. The floor was of polished gray stone. A wide flight of stone steps led up to the second
and third floors. Exhibition galleries branched off on the sides. Selena consulted a guide printed in English and Bulgarian. The Greek antiquities were on the second floor.

  The room with the Greek and Roman exhibits was to the left. White platforms of varying height supported glass cases for the displays. The floor was tiled with more broad squares of polished stone, under a ceiling with repeating squares of dark wood.

  The room was quiet and cool. They were the only visitors. Selena walked among the cases looking for anything relating to Erinys or Demeter. The exhibits were arranged chronologically. She moved through the centuries and stopped in front of a case about three feet tall, set at waist height.

  "Here's something."

  The case contained statues and pottery.

  "That's Erinys." She pointed at a damaged statue of a woman in a flowing robe wearing a braided wreath. The sculptor had given her strong, unforgiving features. The corners of her mouth were pulled down. She was looking at something and wasn't happy about it.

  Selena read the card below the figure.

  "This wasn't found in Sofia. The card says it was dug up in Bankya at a temple dedicated to Demeter."

  Nick studied the statue. "Could fit the inscription. Where's Bankya?"

  "I don't know."

  In the car they consulted the GPS.

  "It's about ten kilometers from here." Nick looked at his watch. "Getting late. Let's save it for tomorrow."

  They headed back to the Hilton.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Zviad lay naked on his back, Bedisa on top of his huge belly. Both were slick with sweat. Zviad had his eyes open. He was thinking. Usually after one of their sexual bouts he would fall into a short sleep. Not sleep, really. More like a ten minute escape from reality. A ten minute escape for her.

  Not today. Bedisa waited. She knew better than to say anything. Her body rose and fell with Zviad's breathing.

  "Iosif called."

  She waited.

  "The Americans went to Bulgaria, to Sofia. Iosif has gone after them."